Lessons from a Pseudonym

Zoe had been with her boyfriend, Matthew, for about six months or so when it all changed. Their relationship had begun in the first week of university – they had lived in neighbouring flats in the Central Halls of Residence, and the entire block of freshers had had one long week of drunken debauchery to celebrate getting to tertiary education.

She’d not been sober all week – and neither had he - so she had an extra inebriated confidence on top of that given to her by her fairly easy upbringing. She had flirted with him all week, doing everything possible to catch his attention – being as close to him as possible as frequently as possible, touching him whenever she could get away with it, always smiling whenever he looked at her, that sort of thing.

He wasn’t shy in normal social situations, but when it came to women, he was almost timid. He just didn’t pick up the signs – even her accidental-on-purpose spilling of her drink all over him one evening, he’d simply put down to her drunken state. She was very annoyed by the end of the week, and was forced to try out a new strategy. Calculating the right moment, she ‘let slip’ to one of her flatmates that she was interested in him. Her flatmate, Sophie, later let slip the information to him.

They had been at the end of the final evening’s pub crawl at the time, and she’d watched across the crowded room as Sophie, a guaranteed gossip, had genuinely accidentally told him who fancied him. She saw him through the corner of her eye blushing as he learned of the news, and she made certain she wasn’t looking at him when he turned to look at her.

Bless him, he’d been at a boys’ school for the last five years, he didn’t know how to handle the opposite sex. He may have had a girlfriend or two in his time, but he hadn’t had enough to be fully confident in the circumstances. He didn’t know what to do.

Zoe had bided her time carefully after that, casually sipping her drinking and half immersing herself in conversation with other drunken first years. But her mind was on Matt, who she wanted to walk home with that night. And, naturally, she did just that. The end of the evening came, the bar staff kicked them all out, and she stumbled over to him, almost falling into his arms.

“Matt, will you walk me home?” she asked, holding onto him as if to keep from collapsing in the street.

When they got to her door, she reached for him again, but this time he also made a move, and they were kissing before their hearts took another heavy beat. It was a kiss of such fiery passion that it ignited her entire body, and as he held her head, gently exploring her lips with his, the chemistry was irresistible between them.

They broke apart eventually, and she went inside her flat, waving him a seductive goodbye to him as the door closed between them. She didn’t want things to move too quickly, and saw in his slightly dazed, star-struck expression that he understood. But that night when she undressed, she had to change her panties before bed since she was so wet, and while drifting off to sleep, recalling the hardness pushing at her through his trousers, she couldn’t wait for their relationship to progress.

With almost military planning, she allowed him to go further and further each night, then at the end of the second week they’d known each other, she allowed him the full way. He was, she had to say, a wonderful lover. His touch was delicate but firm, his body finely tuned through years of school sports, his mouth sensitive and immensely kissable. He was always clean and smelled fresh and slightly exotic, and his dress sense wasn’t too bad, fitting in with her own fairly wealthy lifestyle.

She loved his company, too, and his quiet yet well-informed conversation, not to mention his easy, quirky sense of humour. She knew for a fact that this was a man she wanted to stick with, whether or not her parents approved of his less than millionaire status.

In her experience, the way men liked their women was for them to lie on their backs and look as though they were enjoying every second. So her love-making tended to concentrated to a fair amount on the missionary position, and although she did have the occasional orgasm, she made sure his pleasure was always the most important factor. That, as it turned out, was her fundamental error.

They got through countless boxes of condoms in those first few weeks before she had decided to go on the pill, but the lust in their relationship eventually quietened down, and around the end of March, they seemed to sleep with each other only once or twice a week. It seemed to her – and judging by the occasional comment from her friends, everyone else as well – that the two of them were a ‘couple’, which meant their lust stage was mostly over. In fact, sometimes Zoe felt they were verging on being a middle-aged couple.

The night it all took off, she was actually wondering if they had a future together, whether it was all worth going on with. She thought of telling him that it was all over, but such a thought brought tears to her eyes – the kind of tears that made her nose itch and seemed to spark an explosion of pain, desperation and deep sadness. He was hers, and she felt that she couldn’t do without him. She loved feeling that she was wanted by him – every day as she sat in lectures, she had it in the back of her mind that she would get home and could relax in his arms with that familiar, seductive scent he wore saturating the air she breathed.

She tried to dispel the thoughts of ever ending their relationship while she had a shower. They were going out for the standard pubbing and clubbing experience of a student Friday night, and as ever, she wanted to look perfect – for Matt as well as for her reputation. But she could get ready almost on autopilot, and that left her able to really think about things.

She showered, making herself spotless – and with a razor, hairless in all the right places – and decided that giving him up wasn’t the answer. After all, all couples would go through fallow patches of their love lives. They couldn’t sleep with each other every night now – that wasn’t the way it worked. Lust was a flame that burned brightly at the beginning and then settled into a steady smoulder, wasn’t it?

No, she should just try to cope with it, realise that he still wanted her, still loved being with her, but that lust was no longer number one priority. As she got out of the shower and dried herself, her heart lifted – didn’t Matt still seem to be extremely happy whenever she was around? Perhaps it was a good thing that sex was no longer the only thing supporting the relationship. They were companions, and companions had more chance of staying together than just sex partners.

But as she dried her long blonde hair with her hair drier, then dressed while standing in front of the full length mirror, there was still that small doubt in the back of her mind that Matt would do what every other man in her experience had – move on when the initial lust quietened.

She went over to his flat with that uncertainty in her head – what if it wasn’t up to her if the relationship was strong enough to cope with the slowdown of their sex lives? What if he had already made the decision to drop her and was waiting for the perfect moment? Her heart was in her mouth and her hands were cold yet clammy as her knock on her neighbouring flat was answered.

“Matt, it’s Zoe!” Matt’s flatmate Jeff ushered her into the flat. “He’s running a little late,” he explained, “he’s in the bathroom.”

She nodded and smiled at Jeff – who, dressed in just a pair of boxers, was running a little late himself. She went through to Matt’s bedroom, and passing the bathroom, the door opened. Matt was in there, and as she looked through the open door, she saw that he was naked.

“I’m just hopping into the shower,” he said, his mouth full of toothpaste foam, “go through to my room if you like.”

“Shut the door!” she said, “people will see you!”

But as she headed through to his room and heard him close the door, she smiled to herself – she’d seen his beautifully sized penis clearly stirring at the knowledge that she was looking at it. That was a distinct sign that he was still sexually interested in her. She continued on to his room, which was as messy as any normal male student’s quarters, but at least it didn’t smell of old socks.

She sat on his bed and waited. By the sounds of things, Matt’s four flatmates were all in various stages of lateness, tearing about all over the place looking for things they needed for a good night out.

It was while boredom was creeping into her, that something caught her eye. Matt’s computer was on, and something had flashed up on the screen. She looked at it – clearly his email. She looked closer, and found that it was an email from a female.

Fear, pain and a little anger ripped through her body – had Matt been cheating on her? Curiosity got the better of her, she had to find out more. She wouldn’t get another chance to find out, either, since Matt probably wouldn’t accidentally give her access to his email account again. But was it prying into his privacy too much?

Hell, ‘Rachael’, whoever she was, would probably turn out to be a cousin or something. And if all was innocent, it wouldn’t be harmful to just quickly click on his email and read it. A quick look outside in the corridor, and it sounded as though Matt had just stepped into the shower. In her experience, Matt took pretty long showers. She’d have time.

Closing the bedroom door to make sure his flatmates didn’t find out, she leaned over the keyboard, grabbed the mouse and double clicked on the new message.

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I just wanted to let you know that I *really* enjoyed your new story 'Venetian Nights' on literotica.com :) It definitely got my juices flowing. Keep up the wonderful work ;) -Rachael

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What was this? Did he know this person, Rachael? And was that about a story? She looked at the return email address, and saw that it was ‘feedback@literotica.com’ – from the very website that apparently held the story referred to in the message. The only answer was to leave Matt’s email as it was, as though she’d never looked at it, and open up the internet browser to check out what this website was all about.

She got through to the website and found a vast array of erotic stories on offer. The thought of reading erotic fiction made her blush. Did people really like this stuff? She found a search box and typed in ‘Venetian Nights’. If Matt was up to something with this site, she wanted to know what it was. It came up, with an author name ‘MattSimon’. Simon was Matt’s middle name, so that was explained fairly clearly to her. So, he was a secret writer in his spare time. Hmm…

She started to read the story, and to her surprise, found that it really wasn’t too badly written. In fact, it was one of the most amazing stories she had ever read – not because it was a work of literary genius: it clearly wasn’t – but because of the response in her that it provoked. As she read on, she found feelings of arousal awakening in her that she had never ever felt while reading before. Usually, such feelings took a sustained period without any sex and a stimulus like the sight of a really hot man to make her feel that way.

And it was undoubtedly Matt’s writing. She recognised the syntax that he used, the certain turn of phrase every now and then that was part and parcel of his character, certain words that only he would use in a situation. But it wasn’t the Matt she knew. It was so amazingly sexual, so overtly erotic – it wasn’t like Matt to share his real thoughts about the process that was going on whenever they made love. Because this story was about them making love – the female depicted in the tale was clearly her, described in detail from top to toe from her long blonde hair down to her elegantly painted toenails.

And she felt fire between her legs at what he really thought about her. If she had had any doubt about him before, this dispelled any thoughts she may have had that he no longer found her sexually attractive. But it also made her realise something fairly significant in their relationship, because the story didn’t describe the reality of any of their sexuality. It was really quite different to what she’d been doing with him. She would have to figure out what it was.

She managed to read most of the story and scan the rest before she heard the door of the bathroom being unlocked. When she clicked on her boyfriend’s pseudonym, there was a list of his other stories. There were a fair few, too, with some pretty enticing titles. She would save that for another occasion, though.

By the time she had closed down the internet browser and jumped back onto Matt’s bed, grabbing the two day old newspaper from the floor to make it look as though she’d been reading it, her life had changed. Matt was none the wiser for her snooping on his email, and he continued the mad rush to put on some clothes before they headed out.

Sitting on the bed, watching him dressing, she saw him differently now. He was even more amazing, because she knew how besotted he was with her. And when she had a moment in the future, she’d go looking at more of her secret writer’s tales. By the time he was dressed, Zoe was very wet between her legs. If she hadn’t put on her liberal amount of perfume – which she knew from Matt’s story, he absolutely adored – she would be worried that he’d detect the scent of her strong arousal.

That night, she’d never been so horny in a long time – since, in fact, those first wonderful few weeks of their relationship. And after they got back from the club, he’d gone with her into her flat, into her room, and they’d made love four times before he finally went off to sleep. He’d obviously been really turned on by her evident sexuality that night, because he’d asked her to let him go down between her legs and taste her. But she said no, as she usually had whenever he had wanted to please her. She felt better knowing that he was inside her and she was making him feel wonderful, so she had urged him to move up and slide his rigid mass between her slick pussy lips and make love to her.

2

In the morning, Matt had got up fairly early, since he had to prepare himself for that afternoon’s rugby match. She was half asleep when he went, but remembered him kissing her goodbye on the lips, and beamed a broad smile in her semi-consciousness, knowing that she was very much a wanted girl.

She woke up a couple of hours later, glorying in the fact that she didn’t have to get up for ages, and had a wonderfully leisurely Saturday to look forward to.

She stretched the sleep from her petite frame and yawned deeply. She could smell the traces of his scent, and smiled, remembering his goodbye kiss – and the night before. Remembering that particular part of the night made her tingle between her thighs, and a sudden jolt of excitement swept out from her chest as she recalled the erotic fiction website and Matt’s stories on it.

She put a t-shirt on, making her feel a little less vulnerable, but only that t-shirt. She turned her computer on and then locked her door. As the machine booted up, she felt as though she could do anything she wanted in the locked privacy of her own room. Her heart rate soared as she eventually got through to the website again, and to the list of stories by her boyfriend, ‘MattSimon’.

Using her right hand to move the mouse, she started on the stories, which were quite long and detailed, and were mostly situations of perfect lovemaking between the hero and the perfect woman, who always seemed to be the likeness of her. Her left hand drifted down between her legs where she was dripping with moisture – some of which, she was thrilled to realise, was Matt’s emissions from the night before.

His words were incredible, springing from the page to burn through her pussy and up through her spine. She came a few times, in fact – the first time she’d done that to herself for a long, long time – before it dawned on her the fundamental difference between these stories and the reality of their love-making.

In Matt’s stories, most of the time was taken up by describing foreplay, the kissing and touching, the caressing and squeezing – and not to forget the licking and the tasting. In fact in most of the stories, the actual penetration – which had formed the real focal point of their love making in the real world – was treated as the icing on the cake, the important but not all-dominating part of the entire performance of male and female.

In fact, the way Matt had it, the male in the story always seemed to hold the pleasure of the female in higher regard to his own release, and the female was always made to come at least once before the final ride. And Matt really seemed to enjoy having his face between a woman’s legs – the way he described it had Zoe soon with two of her fingers buried in her wetness, rising to a huge wave of intense pleasure.

So, the big question: if she were to actually follow Matt’s fantasies a little more, would he try to get her into bed a little more often in future? She would have to try, that was sure.

That night, with Matt going out drinking with his team mates, Zoe had a night with the girls, which involved drinking but not dancing, since no one was up for it after the fairly heavy time the night before. All night, she couldn’t get her mind off what she had learned that day. She had made note of the variations from her usual missionary position that Matt described, and all night, wondered what it would be like giving Matt what he had always wanted – but had been too shy to ask for, even with their closeness and trust.

Returning home, she regretted bitterly that it was a rugby night, because it was the night she most wanted him to sleep with her. She fumbled the key in the lock and ended up dropping it – she had to admit, she was a little worse for the Long Island Iced Teas she’d been having in the latter part of the evening. She stooped to reach for the key on the ground, and was surprised when she stood back up to find herself enveloped by a pair of arms.

“Hello gorgeous,” Matt said, and she could smell the beer on his breath.

“Matt,” she said, fighting to keep her dignity and not reveal the real excitement that she felt, “what are you doing back so early? It’s only one o’clock.”

“Well…we lost,” he said, a note of gloom in his voice. He had been drinking, there was no doubt about that, but she could tell he hadn’t had as much as normal for a post-rugby night. “So…you know…”

“Can I try and make you feel better?” she asked, him, unlocking the door as she did so.

“Uh…yeah…if you don’t mind being with a loser.”

“Come on,” she said, pulling him inside her flat, “you’ll never be a loser in my eyes.”

She led him to her room as quickly as she could, her heart pounding within her chest, eagerly anticipating her new direction in love making. She wouldn’t hurry him or urge him inside her this time – she would let him do whatever he wanted, encouraging him not to slide inside her, but to spend more time on other things.

By the time they got into her room, she was shivering with excitement: if this all went to plan, and those stories that had got that woman Rachael’s juices flowing were really written by Matt, then things were about to change.

She recalled that first story of his that she’d read, ‘Venetian Nights’, about a couple of strangers who met when they were travelling to Venice and ended up booking into the same room together in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Unlike Zoe, the heroine of the story hadn’t shed her clothes as soon as possible, but had allowed him to take them off one by one.